


Thirteen Moments

by bluethecleric



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Fluff and Angst, Implied/Referenced Torture, Love Confessions, M/M, Oops, Pining, Templar Alistair (Dragon Age), Unhappy Ending, oh but also
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-03
Updated: 2019-08-03
Packaged: 2020-07-29 21:15:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,720
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20088886
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bluethecleric/pseuds/bluethecleric
Summary: Perhaps it was the Maker’s will that they would be bunkmates when they were stationed at Kinloch hold. Or maybe the officers in charge of them just found it funny.Cullen doesn't like Alistair, until he does. A story in thirteen pieces.(AU: Alistair actually became a templar and was stationed at Kinloch Hold with Cullen)





	Thirteen Moments

i.

The boy, Alistair, was insufferable. It was plain to see that he had no respect for the Order or the traditions and values it upheld; he replaced the lyrics of hymns with childish rhymes, he was easily (or perhaps willfully) distracted during combat training, and always, always,  _ always _ with the jokes. It took only days for the sound of his laughter to set Cullen’s teeth grinding.

A couple of people mistook them for brothers. Both blond, only a couple years apart in age, always bickering; Cullen gagged at the thought. Alistair’s presence had been all but too much just in the few months it took for them both to finalize their templar training and vows. Cullen doubted they’d both still be alive if he’d had to suffer Alistair's company for nineteen years.

Perhaps it was the Maker’s will that they would be bunkmates when they were stationed at Kinloch hold. Or maybe the officers in charge of them just found it funny.

ii.

Cullen had his first evening watch during their eighth night at Kinloch. It passed uneventfully, of course, but it was past midnight when Cullen was finally free to find his bed. His post was taken up by a woman they called Brandy, perhaps for the color of her hair, or perhaps for the way she could make the people around him relax and smile. She was only a few years older than Cullen, but she seemed bent on taking every new recruit under her wing, or merely befriending them if that failed. As Cullen traded spots with her, she bumped against him, and Cullen found a flask pressed into his hand. He raised his eyebrows, but Brandy just winked and took her position. 

He found a quiet spot between a wall and a bookshelf and opened the flask to smell its contents.  _ Brandy. _ He snorted into his hand. What else had he expected?

Cullen opened the door to his dorm slowly. Alistair had proven a light sleeper, and Cullen didn’t want the creak of the door or the light from the hall to wake him and interrupt Cullen’s rare chance to drink himself to sleep in peace and quiet. But as he pushed further, he heard a gasp and… sniffling? Cullen poked his head inside the room. “Alistair?”

Alistair sat upright on his bed, cross-legged and hunched over the pillow he clutched to his chest. Just enough light from the hall reached Alistair’s face for Cullen to see his red eyes and damp cheeks. Alistair didn’t move or try to hide his shame. He simply stared up at where Cullen stood, looking very much like a child who knew he was about to be punished.

Cullen realized he was gaping and closed his mouth. Alistair lowered his face and stared down into his lap. Cullen shuffled into the room and closed the door, hiding the scene in shadow. Cullen usually kept a candle lit when he changed, but he didn’t want to draw out the awkwardness of the situation at hand. He removed his armor as best he could in the dark and shuffled back to the bed. After a moment of pause, Cullen held out the flask to Alistair. “From Brandy,” he said. Alistair slowly took it, and Cullen climbed up to his bunk without another word.

After a few moments, he heard Alistair pop the flask open. After another moment Alistair whispered, “Brandy from Brandy,” and giggled, quiet and hoarse.

Cullen found that he didn’t want to grit his teeth this time.

iii.

Cullen usually ended up next to Alistair during mass. Though he hated to admit it, he had begun to look forward to it. Alistair still sang all the songs incorrectly, but he’d managed to find just the right vein of jokes to tickle Cullen’s humor. After the first time Alistair had made Cullen bark out a laugh in the middle of the Chant, it became a game the two played; Alistair won if Cullen laughed again, Cullen won every time he did not.

The revered mother caught on fairly quickly, and began wearing a sour expression whenever she spotted Cullen. Cullen wanted to be respectful of the Chantry and its clergy. They were holy and good, and had done no wrong to deserve Cullen’s interruptions during mass. But Cullen still had to bite his lip to keep from laughing when he remembered Alistair replacing ‘Our sweet lady Andraste’ with ‘Miss I-Just-Ate-A-Lemon’ and a nod to the frowning mother. It was low bar, disrespectful, and undeserved.

But damn if it wasn’t accurate.

Cullen set his jaw as she passed by. Alistair whispered in his ear, “I think she went for a lime today.” Cullen punched his arm.

iv.

Alistair was fond of Brandy. Cullen had caught them a few times in isolated corners; each time Alistair staggered back from her with a blush up to his hairline. "Just chatting," Alistair would say. 

"About what?" Cullen had once chanced to ask. Alistair stuttered, but no coherent answer came out, and Brandy was suddenly bent over by her cackling. Cullen got the gist.

Brandy heaved a breath and righted herself. She slapped Alistair on the shoulder and said. "I'll leave you to it, Stairwell." She winked at Cullen as she left, as though he was part of some joke of hers.

Cullen looked to Alistair and swallowed the questions jumping to his tongue. Instead, he merely asked, "Stairwell?"

"I— oh, it's— well, my name is Alistair, so, Ali-stair, Stairwell, you know. That, and I… fell down one. Onto her." Alistair's blush deepened, if that was at all possible.

Cullen smiled as best he could. "I don't suppose that's why she had a black eye a few weeks back?"

Alistair's nose crinkled and he stuck out his tongue. Cullen chortled and led Alistair out of the alcove. 

At least Alistair had better taste in infatuations than Cullen did.

v.

Cullen fell into his bed, mind reeling. He liked Surana, thought of her as a friend— as much as a mage and a templar could be friends— but now, not a day after her harrowing, he'd watched her go rogue and fight tooth and claw against the templars using blood magic. Cullen was sure he'd have had to kill her if not for the Grey Warden who'd been visiting the tower.

Brandy had snuck him a fresh flask. He suspected it was an act of concern more than friendship.

Who was that Warden anyways? Apparently he'd come asking about Alistair of all people. When he found Alistair, they vanished into an empty office for almost an hour, after which Alistair was left deep in thought and far too quiet. Cullen had wondered if he'd been offered a position with the Wardens, but Alistair refused to speak of it. The Warden left that evening with Surana in tow, and Alistair returned to himself with one comically large sigh of relief. Routine returned to the tower, and the clumps of mages whispering in shadowed corners were the only sign that anything out of the ordinary had occurred.

vi.

Cullen and Alistair typically found themselves in separate social circles. Cullen most often took his meals with the quieter crowd, the sort that found more comfort in books and chess than in booze and song, like William and Petrice and that fellow who everyone else called Orlais because they couldn't be bothered to pronounce his given name. It was Dieudonné, for the record.

Alistair, on the other hand, spent his time with the group that could only be called the jocks. They were the ones who you could always hear coming for the sound of their roaring voices and laughter. They trained together when the officers were looking and goofed off when they weren't, especially when Brandy got involved. No wonder Alistair fit in so well with them.

The latter bunch approached the dining hall like iron to a magnet, and with all the subtlety of a raging druffalo. However, soon as they crossed the threshold they collectively skidded to a stop and their voices fell to urgent whispers (though even those were hardly quiet). Cullen craned his neck to see what had happened, but as soon as he caught sight of them they shushed each other and pushed into the room. Alistair was at the front of the group, with Brandy's hand on his arm to usher him along. Maybe.

“So what do you think they broke?” Petrice asked, leaning over the top of her book to watch them settle themselves.

“Or are  _ planning  _ to break,” Dieudonné added.

“Whatever it is, it belongs to someone here,” Cullen said. He glanced around the hall to see if anyone notable was present.

“Shut up, shut up, something’s happening—”

“You’re the worst gossip in this tower, Petrice, I swear—”

_ “Shush!” _

Cullen twisted to look at the table the jocks had taken. Alistair’s back was to Cullen, and he was hunched forward with his hands over his head. Those who could reach him were jostling him and those who couldn’t were pounding the table, their incoherent shouting coming together to chant his name for the hall to hear.

“Maker, fine! Fine, just stop yelling, for  _ fuck’s _ —”

The table did not stop yelling as Alistair stood up— if anything, they got louder. The entire hall was watching now and Alistair looked like he’d just drank a foul cocktail, all red in the face and grimacing as he set off to do whatever it was he had to do.

“Is he coming this way?”

“He’s looking at  _ you, _ Cullen!”

“What’s your most prized possession?  _ That’s _ what they broke!”

Alistair shuffled to a stop when he reached Cullen’s table. “Cullen, I—” his voice was drowned out by the shouting— “I NEED TO— CAN WE STEP OUT FOR A MOMENT?”

Trepidation rose in Cullen’s chest as he stood and fell into step behind Alistair. Alistair’s friends had again been reduced to incoherency and thunderous applause as they stepped out into the hall. The table fell quiet when they were out of sight, and Cullen’s ears rang in the void of sound.

Alistair scratched at his hair. “So... There’s something I’ve been meaning to, ah, talk to you about.” Alistair was looking at anything but Cullen, even his ears the color of beets.

“Are you alright?” The question slipped out before Cullen could think to stop it. Alistair looked at him with wide eyes.

“I’m… I-I— Ah, y-yes, I’m alright, but…”

Cullen pressed his lips together to keep from interrupting again. Alistair went back to ogling the rafters.

"So I, uh, I _really_ hope this doesn't come off badly, but the guys said it wouldn't, so, um, we— you and me— we've known each other for," Alistair blew air through his lips, "eight months now? Nine? And I, um— you've been a good friend to me, and I'm glad I got to meet you. Really. But more than that I've felt— that is, I've _wondered _if you— Maker's breath," Alistair set his jaw with a huff. _"I want to know if you share my feelings."_

Cullen felt his own blush rise. "Your… feelings?"

"Feelings. Like, romance-y feelings. For you. You're strong and brave and you style your hair and I'm— I  _ like _ you. And I thought that you might..." Alistair looked up, searching for some response in Cullen's slack-jawed expression. Cullen was sure he looked like a fish on a dock, but his mind was too blank to formulate a response. Alistair's nose crinkled and he looked away. "I'm sorry. Forget I said anything. I won't bring it up again, I'll-I'll leave you alone if you want. Just, forget this happened."

Alistair moved to return to the dining hall, but Cullen grabbed his arm. He opened and closed his mouth, looking for something,  _ anything _ to say. "It was eleven months," was what finally fell out. "You forgot about the training period."

Alistair blinked. "I… I suppose I did…?"

_ Oh, fuck it.  _ Cullen closed the gap between them and pulled Alistair into a kiss. Alistair gasped, but then his hands were on Cullen's waist and he was leaning into the kiss. Cullen pulled back after a few seconds, but let his hands linger on the sides of Alistair's neck.

"So," Alistair said, breathless, "I suppose that's a 'yes, Alistair, I feel the same' then?"

Cullen hoped he didn’t sound as giddy as he felt as he answered, "Yes, I suppose it is."

vii.

The dining hall was at a fraction of its usual volume. Everyone knew what was wrong— rumors spread fast in a sealed tower— but nobody dared speak on it.

The king was dead, betrayed by the Grey Wardens during a battle with a darkspawn horde. With no heir, Ferelden would surely be thrown into chaos as nobles vied for the crown. Perhaps Orlais would pounce again while Ferelden lay leaderless. And on top of all this, people were saying that the horde that killed the king was more than just a coincidence, that it was the first movement of the Sixth Blight.

Under normal circumstances, Kinloch Hold would be the safest place in the country to wait out the storm, but even that title seemed to be wavering. That was what truly had the mages and templars alike so worried as they picked at their meals.

Cullen sat, his hand on Petrice’s shoulder as she worked to regain her composure. On her other side, Dieudonné held her hand. They all knew how she wished his hand was William’s. But William was missing, vanished in the night along with the two mages he’d been tasked with guarding while they did time-sensitive research.

Neither the Knight-Commander nor Knight-Captain had made any statement about the disappearances. The working theory among most of the tower’s population was that the mages had killed William and used blood magic to escape the tower.

That night, the officers gave terse reminders about vigilance and the signs of possession. "In the wake of King Cailan's death," they said. Everyone knew that wasn't the event they were really responding to.

Petrice was given leave to visit her parents. She would have to explain why they might never meet the father of their grandchild. 

viii.

"Are you alright? You've been different," Cullen asked into the shadows of their room.

Alistair shifted behind Cullen, hugging him closer on the narrow bed. "So have you. So has everyone."

"Well, yes, but… you're not worried about William, not like the others. Something else is bothering you."

Alistair was quiet. Cullen could just about hear his brows pinching. At length, Alistair began in a low voice, "You know I was raised by Arl Eamon? King Cailan was his nephew. I… I knew him. Not well, but I did. With him gone, I…"

Alistair lost his words, and Cullen was again haunted by the ghost of whatever it was Alistair had been holding in in the weeks since the news came.

"I don't want things to change," Alistair murmured, his voice croaking. "I don't want to lose you."

"Maker…" Cullen whispered, and placed his hand over Alistair's where it rested on his chest.

"... You know, I'd have gone with that warden who took Surana, but I couldn't bear to leave without a proper goodbye,” Alistair said.

"Then he did offer you a place in the Wardens?"

"Yeah. It’s almost funny looking back now. Not only would I have missed out on you, but I'd be dead in some field with the rest of the Wardens."

"... Missed out on... me?"

“Heh, you’re blushing."

“What?” Cullen twisted his head around to try and look at Alistair, but their bodies were pressed too close to manage it. Alistair giggled into Cullen’s back. “You can’t even see me,” Cullen said, frowning.

Alistair squeezed Cullen’s torso. “I don’t need to. You blush on your chest, and it got warm all of a sudden.  _ You’re blushing.” _

“I-I am not!”

He was. And it was only getting worse.

“Did  _ I _ make you blush? Or did you think of something  _ else?” _ Alistair asked, drawing out the last word far too long.

Cullen snorted. “If that’s your highest caliber of teasing, then it was nothing appropriate for your innocent little ears," he lied.

Alistair gasped dramatically and rolled so that his back was pressed to Cullen’s. The movement was too forceful, however, and Cullen found himself jostled off the edge of the bed. He landed on the floor with a yelp and a heavy thud.

Alistair scrambled to look over the edge of the bed. “Sh-Shit, are you alright? I didn’t mean for—”

Cullen rolled onto his back and rapped the back of his hand against the side of Alistair’s face. He let his expression soften into a smile and assured him, “Yes, I’m fine. We really should get some sleep, though. It’s an early morning tomorrow.”

Alistair nodded and shifted back on the bed. Cullen righted himself and returned to his place in Alistair’s arms.

"You know—" Cullen said, and paused to consider his words. Alistair hummed to let him know he was listening. "I think… I would have gone with you," Cullen said. "If you asked. If you wanted."

Alistair pressed his forehead into Cullen's shoulders. Not another word passed between them before they drifted to sleep.

ix.

Alistair, with time, had come to take mass more seriously. Or, at least, he had mellowed out enough to use his jokes only sparingly. Instead, he sat with Cullen in the pews and made faces at the hymnals— just enough to draw Cullen's smile without drawing the ire of the mother leading the service as well.

He still didn't sing the Chant. Cullen wondered sometimes if there was a reason he so staunchy refused, or if it was merely habit after so many years. Alistair seemed to be at least superficially Andrastian. Perhaps he had some old grudge he was satisfying in his defiance.

"You have a marvelous singing voice," Alistair murmured to him. Cullen gagged on his words as he was pulled from his thoughts. He hurried to rejoin the song before he drew anyone's attention, but he saw Alistair wiggle his eyebrows when he glanced over at him. Really, sooner or later the sisters were going to start separating them.

One voice fell out of time with the choir. His voice rose to a shout, and Cullen stopped singing and strained to hear the words.

_ “Everyone, stop! Stop singing and listen! Hey!” _

Cullen nudged the shoulders of the people around him and nodded to the shouting man. As they furthered his effort, he raised a hand to get the attention of the clergy. After a few moments a sister noticed the disturbance and raised her hands for quiet.

“Listen!” the man called a final time and pointed upwards.

For a moment, Cullen didn’t hear anything over the shuffling of feet. Then, so faint that it could have been a roll of thunder outside, a roar echoed somewhere above them.

A hundred blades were drawn in the length of a breath. A sargent took the sister’s place in the pulpit and called “Fourth squadron, with me! The rest of you take your posts and await orders.” Cullen squared his shoulders and stepped to join his squad when a hand caught his elbow.

“Cullen—” Alistair began, but Cullen silenced him with a quick kiss.

“I have to go. We’ll take care of the situation and I’ll be back in no time.” He offered a final smile before sliding out of the pew, not knowing if he had spoken the truth.

As he took up rank with his squad, he heard Alistair murmur to his back:  _ “Be safe.” _

x.

Cullen might have blinked in the time it took for Kinloch Hold to fall. It took only days for him to lose track of what was real and what was a nightmare.  _ Her _ voice sounded like a dream in either case.

_ You've lasted so long, but you're so tired. Anyone can see that, but I can see  _ you, _ Cullen. _

_ I wonder how your family will feel never knowing what happened to you. _

_ Oh, how the boy screams! He must have been a delight in bed, no? Dry your tears, dear Cullen. Save them for yourself. _

“Don’t—” Cullen choked, and felt her claws swipe across his damp cheek. He did not cry out. He  _ would not _ cry out. Alistair couldn’t hear him falter, not when he had a dozen other tortures to endure before the night was over.

_ When is the last time you slept? You don't need me to give you visions, love. You fight your own mind, now. _

That _ is your truest desire, Cullen? How horribly altruistic of you. But you know I could grant it so easily. _

_ You can't see him breathe under all that armor. He might be gone already. You won't know until he wakes, or until you join him. _

How sorely Cullen wanted to give in. He wanted to submit, to sleep, to die. But Alistair would be alone, then. Most of his friends were dead. Brandy was gone away somewhere, possessed within the first few nights in this hellish prison. Alistair and Cullen were all that was left of the order.

_ You know I can help you. You've watched your brothers fall to mind games. I don't need games for you, you know.  _ This  _ is so much more interesting. _

_ He'll die soon. The others still torment him. But I can free him. All I ask... _

_ As you wish. In that case, I will see you again soon, my sweet Cullen. _

xi.

Alistair gasped and sat upright, his breath coming more easily than it had in weeks… months maybe. How long…?

“Maker, he’s alive!”

“No, no, lay back down. You’ve been through something terrible—”

Gentle hands pushed Alistair back down to the ground. The motion sent his mind swirling with nausea, and white spots danced in his vision.

“Is he safe? If he came from inside the tower—”

“I figured he’d starve before he came around, honestly.”

“Would you all please stop talking,” Alistair said, waving a hand weakly, “before my brain melts out my ears?”

The voices did stop for a moment, but they were just as soon replaced by whispering and shuffling feet. Someone placed a cool, damp rag across his forehead, though, and he felt the spinning start to slow. When it was bearable to open his eyes, he asked, “Where am I?”

An elderly mage looked down at him, a woman with silver hair. She was one of the enchanters, right? Wa— Wi— something with a W. She lifted the cloth from his forehead and tucked it under his neck. “We’re at the tower entrance,” she explained. “The doors are sealed. As is the way into the tower, for the time being. You’re lucky to have gotten here when you did, or you’d have been sealed in when we reinforced the barrier.”

“Barri—” Alistair lurched and scrabbled against the stone floor, dragging himself out of the enchanter’s reach. “No, I-I’m not… You’re not putting me in another forcefield!” he shouted.

The enchanter looked utterly perplexed by this. A tall man strode up behind her, a warrior with cropped hair and the armor of the… the Grey Wardens? Weren’t they supposed to be dead? Was Alistair hallucinating now?

_ “Another _ forcefield?” the grey warden asked. “What happened in there?”

“The— the forcefields. That’s how they kept us prisoner, until they killed us or… or…” Alistair’s blood ran cold. “Cullen. He’s still in there.”

“And who is Cullen?” the warden asked, crossing his arms.

“He’s my— that is, he’s a templar. They were keeping him, he was the only one left except for me. Why am I here? I have to help him!”

“Throwing away his miracle escape to run to his lover’s rescue? How marvelously dimwitted.” The speaker was a dark haired woman clad in scarves and feathers. Creepy. Alistair threw his best scowl in her direction.

“Hold on—” the warden raised a hand. “He could help us. We need to get to the grand enchanter. Do you know what happened to him?”

“Yes. Yes! He and the rest of the mages are in the Harrowing Chamber at the top of the tower. C-Cullen will be held just below. I’ll come with you! I-I don’t know how fit I am to fight, but I can show you the way. Just let me—” Alistair pushed himself to his feet, and wobbled only a little considering his condition. The warden reached out a steadying hand, but Alistair brushed him off as he gained his footing. He heaved a final breath and gave the warden a firm nod.

“Very well. If you’re well enough, we should waste no time. Wynne— whenever you’re ready.”

Wynne nodded and dispelled the barrier protecting them from the rest of the tower. Alistair fell in step behind the warden and his companions as he entered the hold chambers.

Perhaps it had something to do with the magic of the barrier that reappeared behind them, but Alistair felt cold as ice as he crossed back over the threshold of the tower. 

xii.

Cullen was roused from his sleep by a hoarse cry. As he blinked his eyes into focus, he found himself looking up at Alistair. He was kneeling on the other side of Cullen’s cell wall, cast in that wretched purple light that Cullen feared would stain his vision for the rest of his life. He was yelling and he looked distraught, but he was alive. He’d gotten out. There were others behind him, all soaked in the black-green bile that demons bled. Cullen closed his eyes. He hoped what he saw was real; he had no will left to resist if it was not.

He heard the group’s footsteps on the stairs as a dull echo. Cullen sighed. May every abomination up there die at last.

“Cullen, stay with me.”

“I’m here,” Cullen answered. “Will you stay with me?”

“Does it look like I’m leaving?”

“You’re baiting me to open my eyes,” Cullen complained, but smiled at the ceiling. One of the many games they played.

“Baiting you to show me you’re alive, more like,” Alistair retorted.

“Last I checked, corpses don’t talk.”

“But abominations do,” Alistair whispered, not quietly enough for Cullen to miss as sleep reclaimed him.

xiii.

The vanishing of the cell was silent, but Cullen knew it by the rush of cold air that pierced the gaps in his armor. That, and the full weight of Alistair collapsing on top of him. He wrapped his arms around Alistair as best he could given their position.

“Cullen, they did it! You’re safe now, we’re both safe, we’re going to be ok!” Alistair babbled into Cullen’s neck.

“Thank the Maker,” Cullen said, though he didn’t know what for anymore. Alistair shifted over him and pulled one of Cullen’s arms across his shoulders. Cullen did his best to help as Alistair hauled him up onto his feet. After a few moments, Cullen shifted off of Alistair and took a careful couple of steps.

“Are you alright?” Alistair asked, his hands outstretched as though to catch Cullen. Without thinking, Cullen looked up from the ground to give Alistair an assuring nod.

Alistair froze, and Cullen felt himself shatter inside as fear and understanding rose on Alistair’s face.

"Oh, _no._ Cullen, you didn't_—_ _tell me you didn't make—"_

Cullen shook his head and took a step back. "Alistair, I… I had to get you out. I  _ had _ to."

"No!  _ No!"  _ Alistair staggered forward and punched Cullen in the chest, the clang of his gauntlet on Cullen's chestplate ringing in the air longer than it should have as Cullen staggered half a step. "Fuck," Alistair hissed, reaching still to steady Cullen. Alistair put a hand on Cullen's cheek and Cullen looked at him. Cullen saw the pinpricks of fire in his own eyes reflected in the tears welling in Alistair's.

"Alistair, what's the matter?" the grey warden asked.

Alistair pressed a gentle kiss to Cullen's lips. Cullen knew it would be their last. Alistair stepped back and turned away from Cullen, his face to the ground.

"I thought that my cell had simply failed, but... he made a deal with a demon to release me. It possessed him. We… We have to kill him."

**Author's Note:**

> I dunno why I thought this was a fun idea lol


End file.
